


Not To Be Wasted

by LadyTheWarrior



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom, Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cannibalism, Dinner, Food, Gen, Psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTheWarrior/pseuds/LadyTheWarrior
Summary: “The tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted.”Dr. Lecter has thrown a special feast with the most delicious meals.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Not To Be Wasted

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so somebody on twitter mentioned they had a dream, they were at the table and were eating people, alive, I might add and I remembered Hannibal. So sorry if it's out of character, I tried not to be.   
> Plus I borrowed a few Hannibal's quotes from the books here and there.   
> Hope you enjoy it!

Cackling. It is the first sound I hear. As I am in a bubble, a dark translucent capsule, surrounded by laughing hyenas, on the prowl, hungry for flesh. I recoil unconsciously, feeling my heart racing, brain on fire, nerve synapses firing like hyped up internal aurora borealis. _I didn’t want to open my eyes. Maybe if I sit still and hold my breath they won’t notice me._ I thought reluctantly. Trying to focus on my beating heart, it bangs against my chest, echoes through my whole body, I wonder if they can hear it too. I hug my knees closer to my chest or at least try too if I didn't feel so numb and out of it. _If I sit still and hold my breath maybe they won’t smell my fear._ The sound of scraping metal filled my ears, joining unceremoniously to the caustic voices all around me. Bending, banging, grinding. So much noise. Too much noise. _If I sit still and hold my breath maybe it won’t be me they devour tonight._

“Tete de veeau en sauce verte, want some more? Perhaps with a glass of Bâtard-Montrachet? I’m sure it is to your likings.”

“Ah is that a head?”

The glasses clinked and the sound of laughter erupted louder, engulfing the whole room. _Where am I?_ I want to see, I want to open my eyes and look but I can’t. My whole body is paralyzed with fear and something more, something I can’t quite comprehend. I hear them talk and giggle. The faint sound of classical music now more coherent, less distorted.

“Head of a not a very gregarious lamp.”

Another roar of laughter. I feel sick. I want to throw up but I can’t. Hearing is the only thing I have now, hearing makes me more anxious though. I don’t know if I want to hear it anymore. Helpless, I try to let go of my breath but air wouldn’t enter my lungs. Starved for air, my heart races at tremendous speeds for what feels like an eternity. Satisfaction of safety nothing but a distant memory now. I strain my ears again. Listening. It’s the only thing I can do.

“What about the rest of it?”

“Pardon?

“Nobody refuses a delicious Begger’s clay leg, is that a leg? oh pray tell us dear how do you cook this one?”

“An interesting story behind this one, but for now, I advise you don’t do anything harsh to them, don’t try to cut the head off or suffocate them, listen to them begging to make a delicious meal, you want them to see how you steal it from them.”

The laughter, _the scream,_ coming back to me in a swirling wave of confusion. Where am I? I want to get up, I want to cover my ears, I want them to stop laughing.

“Stealing life?”

I hear the woman asks. I can now differentiate the tones, the gender, I suppose it’s a woman, the voice is peachy and feminine with a hint of amusement in it. _I hate it._

“In this case… just the leg.”

“We don’t want to get philosophical now, do we?”

“Nothing of that sort.”

My mind is a scattered mess. I know the man’s voice, he talks slowly, has a sophisticated tone with a tint of a European accent, I don’t know where I heard it before. somewhere, somewhere at the back of my head. It’s voracious and frightening, something about it makes my heart beat faster. I want to leave.

“I suppose there’s dessert.”

“There is dessert, only not the kind you’re expecting.”

“You always surprise me.”

“I do.”

I scream. I can feel the pain slowly crawling its way back to me. their voices faint and I dive back deeper into the black ink I am trapped in. I scream and pain explodes across my body and I see a man. No … no… a monster, calm, collected, composed. Tearing into me. tearing into my flesh. I scream and I get hurled back down, crashing into the ground. Staring. Staring, wide eyes, blinking, tears falling, at the man with silver immaculate hair, combed to the side, suited in an expensive garment. I scream and where supposed to be my leg burns and blood pools beneath me at an alarming rate.

_I am dying._

“Kholodets.”

“Ah I can’t even begin to … are those gelatin”

"I took the eyes out, just a traditional Russian dessert.”

“It’s tasty.”

“The first step in the development of taste is to be willing to credit your own opinion.”

 _My eyes._ I try to reach them. But I can’t, I can’t move, yet I can hear them, perfectly. As if I am in the same room with them. The same table. _Am I though? Where are my eyes?_

I hear someone else’s agony. A girl. Her screams cut deeper than any knife. I feel hot tears sliding down my cheeks and dropping into the expanding puddle of my warm, sticky blood as I watch the man, shaking his head in disappointment.

“You’ve made a mess,” he says and I know his voice.

_“What fascinates you, Alan?”_

_I look up at the man. He is fascinating for one. Sharp brown eyes, staring right into the core of me. I have never seen brown eyes so cold before in my life. But he is a life savor. He says suicide isn’t the answer. He’s right perhaps. In time I understand. I see a tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth, his face still a frigid statue. As polite as he is, I can see he’s a formidable man. That **Dr. Hannibal Lecter.**_

_“Do you look upon life as a fascinating phenomenal? “_

_“Life is empty doctor. There’s no purpose there’s no meaning, Not that I am unhappy with the way it is. I have everything. A lovely family, a lover, people who care… but none of it… none of it matters. I wish I could offer it all to someone who could savor it, who won’t take it all for granted like me.”_

_Eyes narrowing. reading me. reading me like an open book, that unhinging smile, still hanging at the corner of his lips, visible._

I was torpid in shock. I could no longer scream. Feeling something more comforting, less painful, something like death stabbing me hard in the chest. I always wanted this, then why was I so scared now? I fade to my own screams of guilt and shame. He knows me. He’s my therapist after all. _He's also my savior._

“We can only learn so much and live, Alan.” He says to me and I cry out in surprise once again as something digs into my eyes. My mind reels and it races from the darkness toward the light. Pain explodes across my face, yanking me back to earth.

The panic strikes again. I remember. I remember and I try to move but I can’t, I am bound to the table. The dinner Dr. Lecter has prepared for his guests. That is me. laying inert. Laying dead. laying in pieces. In the mouth of people who savor it. _Oh god_. There are no tears, no screams, no struggle. I know, I know and I accept the way Dr. Lecter tastes the life of me. And they say Dr. Lecter is a dearth of empathy.

“The tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted.”

“To Hannibal!” Hannibal cheered raising his glass, looking deliriously at his guests. And indeed he made sure that none of his patient’s life goes to waste.


End file.
